


Countdown

by Life_sans_Sin



Series: Gravity Falls Prompts [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ford Pines Needs a Hug, Nightmares, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Life_sans_Sin/pseuds/Life_sans_Sin
Summary: Sometimes a guy just needs to be held... even if he is some genius scientist.-Find more like this at @pining-for-pines over on Tumblr!
Relationships: Ford Pines/Reader
Series: Gravity Falls Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658539
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113





	Countdown

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was 'Ford just wanting to be held' and honestly? Good prompt, anon. Good prompt.
> 
> So I messed up the 54321 thing by switching up things you can feel and things you can hear… but! This prompt watered my crops and made my soul sing!

When he finally woke from his power nap turned regular nap, it was dark… though that may have had more to do with the fact that he was currently located in the basement of the Mystery Shack than the actual time. Sweat dripped from his hairline down his forehead, down the back of his neck, and his shirt felt damp with sweat as it stuck to his skin. He sat up with a powerful start, chest heaving for breath as he scanned the area around him with wide eyes.

He was on the couch, his logic reminded him, and not trapped in the Fearamid with Bill Cipher.

Still, despite the fact that he _knew_ that was fact, he couldn’t help the little bit of fear that wriggled at the back of his mind, burrowing through his skull and into the grey matter of his brain like a worm in a soft apple. He breathed out a harsh sigh through his nose and kicked the blankets that were clinging to his legs off of him, probably with a little more force than necessary as panic began to take hold again. Which was ridiculous, it was just a blanket, not bonds that were magical in nature keeping him from moving… it was a blanket. But his mind was being difficult to convince right then, and so, even though he was succumbing to nerves, he forced himself to run through his routine for when he woke up from these things alone.

Five things he could see… His desk was over there, near the wall. That was one. There were books on top of that desk, one of them being his handguide for Theoretical Physics. That’s two. There was a journal, brandishing his usual symbol of a six-fingered hand in gold on the front. Though he couldn’t see it as well, he knew that there was also Stan’s symbol on the palm, a shared journal for the two of them. They wrote in different colored inks even, just to make sure they knew whose writing was whose (not like you couldn’t tell from the obviously different handwriting…but still). That made three. His eyes flickered downward toward himself, and he saw his trembling hands resting on his lap, moving to grip at his knees to try and stop the quaking. Four. He looked up and saw the door leading to the elevator up to the Mystery Shack above, and… before he could even think to count it as five, he felt the overwhelming urge to get up, and go through that door.

So he did.

Four things he could hear… Once the not-so-secret-but-still-called-secret door opened (which was one), he could hear someone moving around in the kitchen. Dishes were clinking together, and water was running– someone was probably washing dishes, he reasoned. That was two things he could hear. He could also hear someone humming a soft tune under their breath, in a familiar voice… three. His footsteps against the hardwood reminded him that he’d fallen asleep with his boots on again, their slight clunking sound making four.

Three things he could feel… His skin felt too sensitive after being on such high alert when he woke up, his clothes feeling almost abrasive. Still, that made one. The sweat that had been dripping from his brow and down his back had cooled, making him feel slightly sticky… a somewhat gross but valid two. He walked into the kitchen, hovering near the doorway for a moment as he just… stood, and looked at you. You were at the sink, washing dishes, just as he’d predicted, humming a gentle tune with a sway to your hips that came with the rhythm to which you scrubbed a pan. He only managed to keep himself there for a moment, no time at all, before he crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest… You were warm, and soft, and he made a small sound in the back of his throat, fingers digging into you slightly. A blessed three.

Two things he could smell… He could smell the shampoo and conditioner you typically used clinging to your hair; you must have taken a shower this morning, since he was asleep at the time of your waking. That made one. You tensed slightly and turned your head a bit to try and see him, relaxing once you realized it was him. He missed what you said, your voice sounding far away for some reason, but he just nestled into your warmth further, nose burying itself against the side of your neck and breathing in deeply. He could smell the green apple dish soap you were using, almost but not quite overpowering enough to cover up your own, natural scent, which made two. It mingled with his own, though he’d yet to shower that twenty-four hour period. You told him he smelled like pine needles and books… and he wondered if you liked that scent as much as he’d come to love yours.

You spoke again, but still, he just couldn’t seem to hear it properly, your words muffled… and he realized that, perhaps, he might still be dreaming. If he was, he didn’t want to awaken. He was fine like this… fine with this little reprieve from the nightmares.

So when you turned around in his arms, hands still dripping and covered in soap bubbles and a look of concern on your face, he leaned in and kissed you for everything he was worth. (One thing he could taste… was the sweetness of the syrup you’d had with your pancakes that morning, he could still taste it clinging to your tongue.)

He let out a shuddering breath against your lips, and you quickly turned away from him, turning off the running water and grabbing the hand towel nearby and drying your hands. When you turned back to him, you were frowning, and he wanted to kiss you again until that look went away. If he was dreaming, you should be smiling…

You pulled away from him, and he swallowed down a noise as his hands chased after yours, trying to hold you closer. But then you turned and grasped his hands in your own, and pulled him toward the stairs leading up to your bedroom. Once the two of you were standing outside your door, you stopped, dropping his hands just long enough to get the door open, and the whole while, he had his hands on you. Petting over your shoulders, resting on your hips, brushing through your hair… He couldn’t bear to be apart from you.

“Okay,” you murmured, and that he heard clearly. “It’s okay. Just let me…” You spoke so gently, and it made a place in his chest feel full, and made his eyes and throat throb as he stubbornly fought off tears that had no right to be there. Getting him in the room after you was no feat, but getting him to sit down long enough for you to unlace and remove his boots apparently was. His hands tangled in your hair, rubbing at your scalp, and you chuckled as you finally pulled off his shoes and tossed them against the wall by the door.

He pulled you up from the floor where you’d been kneeling and into his arms with one swift tug, not missing your little grunt as you collided with his chest. Ford fell backward onto the bed and pulled you right along with him, and you just laid there for a minute, whether you were stunned or what he didn’t know.

“… Nightmare?” you asked, so hesitant that he wanted to hide from it. It was silly, for a grown man to be so afraid of demons that didn’t exist anymore… even if they were, at one point, literal demons. He nodded his answer, and you breathed out a sigh, not at all annoyed, just… saddened. You pulled away from him, and he couldn’t stifle the small sound that worked its way up his throat when you held your arms open to him.

He went into them gladly, burying his face against your chest without concern, and he breathed out his anxiety into your shirt, until it fogged up his glasses that he’d also somehow managed to keep on while he was sleeping. Your fingers tangled in his hair and rubbed soothing circles and intricate patterns against his scalp, a shiver working its way down his spine at the action.

“I’m sorry…” It was just a murmur, but he still heard it, as though you’d whispered it right into his ear. He shook his head and pressed his cheek against your chest, over your heart, listening to the soothing lub-dub of it as it beat steadily, calmly. “We can stay here as long as you’d like.”

And, to your credit, you held to your word… Even when it approached an hour of him just laying against you, listening to your heartbeat and breathing, you didn’t give any indication of wanting or needing to leave. Normally he’d feel guilty, for taking you away from what you were doing, for taking up so much of your time like this, but for now?

He supposed everything else could wait for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, and you have a Tumblr, then consider following my friend and I over on our shared blog @pining-for-pines! We fill all kinds of prompts and are always taking requests, and we'd love to hear from you!


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